The Man Who Plants Trees in the Gobi Desert Near Dunhuang
The Man Who Plants Trees in the Gobi: A Field Note from Dunhuang
Deep in the Gobi Desert outside Dunhuang, a man has spent years planting and tending a grove of poplar trees. This field note is not about a tourist attraction, but about persistence, landscape, and an unexpected encounter in the desert.
I first heard about the caretaker through a travel industry group.
He mentioned a grove of poplar trees hidden deep in the Gobi outside Dunhuang — every one planted by hand, over many years. Before we ended the conversation, he smiled and said:
"If you ever come to Dunhuang, come see it."
I agreed politely.
To be honest, I didn't think much of it. 
A few months later, I arrived in Dunhuang for a scouting trip. We met for drinks one evening, and the next morning he appeared in an aging pickup truck and suggested we head into the desert.
The city disappeared quickly behind us.
The road grew rougher. Then it became little more than gravel and dust.
For a long time, there was almost nothing to see — no villages, no tourists, no signs. Only heat, and the flat white sky pressing down on everything.
Eventually, a small corrugated metal cabin appeared in the distance.
The temperature was close to fifty degrees. Waves of hot air rose from the ground, blurring the horizon into something uncertain. Standing there, I found myself wondering how anyone could spend years trying to grow trees in a place that seemed determined to erase life.
Then a dog appeared.
A small local mutt came running from somewhere among the trees. The sand and gravel were so hot it could barely move comfortably — it limped awkwardly toward us, stopping every few steps, then continuing again.
But its tail never stopped moving.
It was genuinely happy to see him.
The dog circled its owner, disappeared into the trees, then came back — as if checking he was still there.
I watched them together for a while.
The forest itself was not spectacular.
Many of the trees leaned with the wind. Some twisted in strange directions. Others seemed to be fighting the desert one slow season at a time. Nothing about it looked carefully designed. Nothing resembled the polished landscapes in tourism brochures.
And yet, standing there, I realized I had completely misunderstood the place.
What stayed with me was not the forest.
It was the persistence behind it — years of planting, years of watering, years of returning to the same patch of desert under the same unforgiving sun.
Not for recognition.
Not for visitors.
Just because the trees needed tending, and he was the one who tended them.
When it was time to leave, I looked back through the dust.
The small metal cabin stood alone against the horizon.
Behind it, a line of crooked poplars bent quietly toward the wind.
The man stayed behind.
The dog stayed behind.
And the desert carried on, as it always had.
Field Notes
Location: Gobi Desert, Dunhuang, Gansu Province, China
Theme: Slow Travel, Heritage Landscapes, Desert Ecology, Field Observation
Archive: Void Heritage Narrative Archive
Want to understand the science behind the trees? Read our deep dive into poplar tree ecology in the Gobi Desert →